


Twas The Night Before K'ristmas

by seriousfic



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne’s holiday plans are simple, modest, and impossible to screw up. Unless, of course, his ward did something crazy like show up with his new alien girlfriend in tow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twas The Night Before K'ristmas

  
Dick Grayson is important to me. I won’t give into the delusion that he isn’t. Although my first concern is always for Gotham City, my… family has come to represent what is best in Gotham to me. Sometimes it’s so hard to remember that when fighting for the innocent people of Gotham, my allies are among those number. And so, although we have all agreed without question or categorization to lay our lives on the line for any civilian, no matter how immoral or significant, their lives perversely mean more to me than the people we protect. It’s one of the great contradictions I have discovered. Using fear so that the people of Gotham have nothing _to_ fear. Breaking the law to uphold it. Dressing up as a bat to combat insanity. Oh yes, I’ve gotten self-aware with age.  
  
One of my duties is protecting my allies. They look to me for guidance. I’ve always known that one day if I’m not strong enough, smart enough, fast enough, I could die. But if I influence a fellow - I guess hero is the word - hero to be strong enough and smart enough and fast enough, then I’ll live on. I have no children, no family, nor do I intend to start one. It’s the only legacy I’ll permit myself, aside from Gotham City’s continued survival.  
  
Dick Grayson is my legacy. That, above all else, is why it really pisses me off when he brings home some skanky alien stranger for Christmas.  
  
Koriand’r opens her mouth to say hello, this bubble-bodied xenomorph who I’ve seen sucking face with my ward in all the gossip columns, and all I hear is “I’ve had your boy’s penis in my mouth. It was yummy.” Later it turns out that _was_ what she said. Apparently it’s part of a Tamaranian greeting to assure the parents of a “prospective life-mate” that his bride isn’t frigid. Prospective life-mate. That’s so much better.  
  
It’s… heart-warming that Dick would rather spend Christmas at the manor with myself and Alfred than with his new friends in the Titans. He’s bubbling over with stories to tell and his face lights up when I tell him that Barbara promised to stop over later. But he’s also unaccountably taken up with this Koriand’r Princess. I’ve known princesses. Diana had a grace and poise that this… swimsuit model couldn’t match. And yet while Dick was always professional around _her_ , despite certain… phases he went through. And with Koriand’r, he’s a love-struck puppy, always looking at her like she’s… I don’t want to know. And she _looks back!_  
  
I haven’t watched her long enough to know if she’s good enough for Dick, but it’s obvious base physical attraction is at the core of their relationship. Alfred would caution me from making suggestions in this area, but that’s no place to start a relationship. I base this on my reading and essaying of Jane Austen’s novels, and they wouldn’t be so popular if they were totally off the mark. Mr. Darcy never fell in love with anyone because they flew around in a metal bathing suit all day.  
  
Not that she’s wearing that, thankfully, I don’t think I’d permit her into my parents’ house if she were. What winter clothing she does wear is strained to contain the curves of her body, so she looks like some erotic dancer who never gets around to doing her striptease. Dick must think so too. He calls her “snow bunny” as a sign of affection. Obviously a private joke. I try to fight back, making pointed references to old cases that only he would get. Not a single pun I get out of him. Instead, he takes Kory down to the cave to show her all our trophies. When I go down to update a case file, they’re canoodling behind the giant penny. Looks like Koriand’r finally did get around to that striptease.   
  
She asks if I want to join in and finally me and Dick are on the same wavelength (to continue the metaphor, we’re as horrified as we’d be at the notion of a radio station that plays Christmas music all year round). I make a hasty retreat and the only time Dick brings it up is to say “Open-minded, isn’t she? I had a talk with her. Won’t happen again.”  
  
I don’t think Koriand’r got the gist of his talk, though. She refers to myself and Alfred as Dick’s “two dads.” I worry what new interpretation she’d come up with if I corrected her, so I leave that to Dick.   
  
Barbara stops by, finally, to give the four of us some relief from each others’ company. For a few hours I was selfishly praying for the Mad Hatter to start stealing Santa caps so I would have an excuse to vanish while everyone’s back was turned. No such luck, although the urge to flee to the cave is overwhelming when Barbara rings the doorbell and everyone turns. I resist it.  
  
Christmas dinner is delicious, as always. I partake just enough to satisfy Alfred, knowing that I’ll have to burn off any weight gain to keep in maximum physical condition. Dick is a bit more forgiving and the alien packs away food like there’s no tomorrow. Barbara’s the only one who understands my dilemma; I think we’re on the same diet plan.   
  
She and Dick are surprisingly civil; more so, her and Kory… the alien. Koriand’r is aware that Dick and Barbara used to have a thing (knowing who Dick would end up with, I wish I’d encouraged that flirtation at the time) and manages to defuse any tension graciously. And it’s hard to stay mad with Alfred’s cooking under your fork, although God knows I’ve tried.  
  
I resign myself to the fact that my son is playing footsie with a big-haired bimbo under the table and push around my peas. Alfred tries to similarly herd the situation, and it’s similarly useless. Barbara gets the best conversation out of the table; she has lots of opinions about how things are run in Washington, more than the politicians it sometimes seems. “Senator Gordon,” as Dick used to call her. Kory has some rather unique insights into the political process, and the ones that don’t involve ritualized combat are actually somewhat interesting. It’s obvious her training on Tamaran made her a shrewd, psychologically adept leader. I have to admire that, even if I wish she’d stop sitting in Dick’s lap and feeding him dessert. Barbara thinks it’s sweet. I am so alone at times.  
  
Then, as a sop to Alfred, we decorate the tree. I could be fighting crime, if there were any crime to fight. I hate Christmas. Why is there never any crime on Christmas? Why, on the holiday most specifically designed to annoy me, is there never anything else for me to do? At least Superman won’t be playing Clarence to my George Bailey this year. I bribed Lois Lane with some Waynecorp exclusives to keep Clark out of my hair. She had smiled and said something about mistletoe before departing. They’re probably shacked up right now.   
  
Why did I come to know so much about my companions’ sex lives? Big Barda and Mr. Miracle are probably tying each other up with Christmas lights, Green Arrow and Black Canary are continuing the fiction of being heterosexual while having Hal and some controlling redhead over for Dinah, and if anyone were to look up at the wrong time in a snowless climate, they’d learn far too much about the Thanagarian reproductive process.  
  
The only member of the Justice League whose sexual proclivities I don’t have a disturbing amount of information about is Wonder Woman, and I just know that’s going to change. She smiles at me a lot. I find that odd.  
  
And now I’m thinking about super-sex while Barbara is rattling on about Pakistan and Alfred is serving the fruitcake. Sometimes, Brucie, you just ask for trouble. I’ll say this for Koriand’r, she at least spared the rest of us that fruitcake. Dick and Kory are hopping around like bunnies (I shudder to think what else they do like bunnies), decorating the tree. Although it’s Barbara, hoist up to stand on Dick’s shoulders, who puts the star on the tree. Alfred frowns in disapproval over how many pine needles we’ve spilled on the carpet. Kory flies up to straighten the star and for a moment we’re all united in slight shock. All except Dick, who takes her hand as she glides back down to earth.  
  
Barbara smiles at me and says “It’s kind of flattering, thinking he had to go out of this world to top me.”  
  
“He could never top you,” I whispered in her ear. She takes it as a sentimental gesture. I’ve just learned to appreciate she has pupils.   
  
Although that does give me an idea for the costume: turn the eyeholes into white lenses. Protection for the eyes and added intimidation. Out of some vague sense of niceness, I ask Kory what she thinks of the idea. She think it’s a good plan, and even knows a type of resin that will strength the bond between the lens and the cowl, so it doesn’t pop out or break. I nod.   
  
Okay, so she’s not so bad for an untrustworthy, sexually promiscuous, violent… person. If Dick likes her, she can’t be all bad. And besides, it’s Christmas. Alfred would hold it against me all year if I were a dick to her. And she’s really made an effort to stop teasing Barbara about a threesome, so she deserves some credit for that.  
  
The presents we open bring a smile to both Dick and Kory’s faces. Barbara gets them a blender. I’m reluctantly forced to concede it’s a good idea. They’re starting a new life together, and I suppose that life will involve blending things. Dick jokes that he’ll no longer have to use the motorized Batarang. I don’t see what’s so funny. The motorized Batarang wasn’t intended for that use.  
  
But they’re building a life, one that needs cups and toasters and silverware and everything else we’re giving the couple. It means Dick will be cooking, so thankfully they won’t be spending this new life in Gotham. Bad enough having one Firefly running around.   
  
Despite all the money I’ve spent this holiday season (another reason to hate Christmas: the accountants), there’s only one thing I can give Dick that’s worth a damn. I take him aside and tell him… stuff. About how I’m proud of him, and I’m happy for him, and I’m glad he has someone like Kory in his life (although I would much rather it be someone like Barbara or Donna or Duela goddamn Dent). Things like that. He thanks me and neither of us tear up, not even a little. We go back into the party, where Kory is wearing a sweater that Aunt Harriet knitted. Statistically, someone was bound to like that gift, even if that someone wasn’t one of the six billion people on Earth. At the very least, I could appreciate weird.  
  
So Christmas turned out to be not horrific, by my standards. No one died or lost a limb, no planes crashed, no buildings burnt down. Putting up with Dick’s new girlfriend was a small price to pay.  
  
Now Boxing Day, on the other hand, that was a travesty. Why Roy picked that year to “crash” at our place and declare he’d had enough of Ollie’s bullshit, I’ll never know…


End file.
